


Termination

by Yngvildr the Voracious (Yngvildr_the_Voracious)



Series: McHanzo Week 2016 [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch!Hanzo, Day 4, Deadlock!McCree, Falling for the objective, Heartbreak, M/M, McHanzo Week 2016, Role Reversal, Smut, Soft!Gabe, Young Hanzo Shimada, Young Jesse McCree, dad!gabe, pining for the doctor, young!mchanzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8928625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yngvildr_the_Voracious/pseuds/Yngvildr%20the%20Voracious
Summary: Still, this was a mission. Undercover. Speak with the locals. Gather intel. So of course, he had to notice the tall, broad shouldered man with the hat, sitting alone at a table at the very back of the shabby, yet surprisingly clean establishment.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I think we all had the same idea. It's way too difficult to think of Hanzo wielding guns and McCree wielding bows, but swapping origin stories? Well, that sure dills my pickle!  
> Bonus brothers weapon swap! ;)

Hanzo disliked undercover missions.

He was best used in stealth and assassination. Why Gabriel had assigned him to an full undercover recon in the middle of the American desert was beyond him.

 

He stuck out like a sore thumb, with his accent, his stately demeanor despite the wet patches of sweat staining his white t-shirt, among the Americans clad in leather and metal, their skins ranging from a peach reddened by the unforgiving sun, to the darkest ebony.

 

Cards and alcohol, the twang of the southern accent. The only place Hanzo had seen anything even remotely resembling this place was in an HBO show.

 

Steeling himself, Hanzo pushed the rust coloured door of the Panorama diner and stepped into this den of crime against gastronomy.

 

It looked average in all things. The menu was scrolling above the omnic server at the bar, regular waiters in matching yellow outfits flitted about between patrons. It was near lunch time, it was packed. At least, the crowd would conceal him for a while.

 

He could pretend he was a traveler. Road 66 led to many places and tourists often made the extra turn to the historic road, the one that went through Santa Fe. Hanzo liked history anyway.

 

Still, this was a mission. Undercover. Speak with the locals. Gather intel. So of course, he had to notice the tall, broad shouldered man with the hat, sitting alone at a table at the very back of the shabby, yet surprisingly clean establishment.

 

He wasn’t exactly sitting. In fact, he was more like reclining against the red squeaky fake leather cushions glued to the plastic of the bench, both his arms seemingly crossed against his chest. Hanzo couldn’t be sure, a heavy woolen cloak hid them. It was the same for his features, obscured behind the wide brim of a battered looking hat.

 

How had someone so peaceful looking managed to find a table on his own on the rush hour of this popular cheap diner filled with so many questionable individuals? All of them were branded with such a shameful display of inked skin, even Hanzo Shimada himself had been shocked!

 

Flames, skulls, glistening vehicles of every kind, barely clothed women, there was no end to it and everyone bared their arms, torsos and legs to show them off…

 

But not this man. No, he was covered from head to toe, sitting alone at a table with room for four. Hanzo noticed he wore spurs to his boots to add to the cowboy persona.

 

“Excuse me…” Hanzo asked to a passing waitress. “I see there’s room over there, might I…”

 

The waitress had been smiling, ready to serve. Her pearly white teeth disappeared quicker than a snowflake in the desert as she shook her head quickly from right to left, the universal sign for no.

 

Hanzo weighed the pros and the cons. He was a stranger, a foreigner. He would either be mistrusted or be given some kind of lesson. Serve as an example. Hanzo was familiar with the pattern. The Shimada clan had used it. Thankfully, Hanzo was not the Shimada clan’s victims. He knew how to defend himself should the worst arrive.

 

Slowly, he sat up from his place at the bar and walked to the back of the room. Everyone steered clear of him as he walked. He heard whispers. If they were good or bad, Hanzo barely had time to wonder. He had a goal. See the man’s face from underneath the brim of his hat.

 

The Japanese man cleared his throat.

 

“Excuse me, may I sit at this table with you, sir.” he asked politely.

 

Suddenly, the restaurant was plunged into stillness and silence. Hanzo heard the ticking of a clock and the soft chiming of a bell. It was noon.

 

The man’s head moved underneath the hat. Tilting his head to the side, Hanzo could finally get a good look at the man’s face. A scruffy beard on tanned skin, a large nose that looked like it had been broken several times over and two warm dark eyes matching the smile on his lips.

 

“Well, howdy, sir. Sure, you can sit down here, it’s a free country.” he said, his voice deep and his accent twangy.

 

Hanzo’s heart beat wildly in his chest as he sat on the bench opposite of the man. He heard the restaurant go back to life, its soundtrack made of the rumble of chatter and the clanking of cutlery starting back up like a well oiled machine. Hanzo felt like he was attached on rail tracks, hearing the thundering of the train. The dark eyes fixing him with a thoughtful look was the locomotive about to hit him.

 

Hanzo felt the pressure in his chest build up. He started to understand why this man sat alone.

 

“So… What are you havin’, Mister…?”

 

“Yajirobei Takeshi.” Hanzo answered quickly, his alias smooth on his tongue. “I was still choosing. The menu is extensive, but I do not care much for burgers or hot-dogs.”

 

“Fat chance you have there, friend. Burgers and hot-dogs combined make up about ninety percent of the menu of the Panorama.” the man answered, eying Hanzo from the top of his head to his waist.

 

“What are the ten remaining percent?” Hanzo asked. He found that he was genuinely curious.

 

“Well, the drinks, what else? ” the man exclaimed, his hat suddenly seeming like it had life of its own as it jumped back, revealing much more of his face. “Including the house special, of course.”

 

His forehead was wide, made even more prominent by a receding hairline. Despite this, his hair looked quite thick and brown, matching his beard. It looked like he hadn’t trimmed in a good ten years, reaching his shoulders as it was. Here and there, Hanzo could see a few stray white hairs that didn’t look like they were caused by age. Otherwise the root would be white as well, wouldn’t it?

 

“And what is exactly the house special?” Hanzo asked.

 

The man’s demeanor changed from simply polite to sultry so quickly, Hanzo barely had the time to steel himself against the smooth whisper.

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, beautiful?” he said, his voice low, bubbling with something that made Hanzo’s stomach feel both too light and too heavy.

 

The man’s right arm was now on the table, his left tipping his hat back into place and completing the picture of the alluring seducer, with his dark eyes shining with what Hanzo recognised as… Interest, to put it mildly.

 

The Japanese man’s gaze was attracted to the left arm.

 

It was made of metal, if Hanzo had to take a guess, this was not a glove. Chrome, shining, stamped with a winged skull gnawing on a lock.

 

Smiling at the symbol, Hanzo quickly turned his gaze back to the man. _Oh, Gabriel, you are the best handler_ , he thought idly as he feigned interest in the strange man, eating alone in a packed diner at high noon.

 

*

**

*

 

Jesse McCree, Scourge of Road Sixty-Six, Kingpin of the Deadlock Gang…

 

… Was a damn attractive man.

 

Hanzo didn’t know if it was this shroud of mystery or the rugged aura of the lonesome cowboy, respected for his quick aim and how he used it.

 

Or maybe it was the large torso shaped like a barrel, a wicked smile and an ass to kill for...

 

Hanzo did not kill for cute butts. He killed to save his brother, nothing else.

 

This was Jesse McCree, Scourge of Road Sixty-Six, Kingpin of the Deadlock Gang, he was talking about. Wanted for about as much crimes than there was felonies in the United States of America and beyond.

 

_“Wouldn’t you like to know, beautiful?”_

 

“I am a curious man.” Hanzo had answered, smiling softly.

 

It had all gone down hill from here. Gabriel was probably losing patience. It had been a while since Hanzo had sent a message to his handler, as was appropriate. More guiltily, Hanzo realised he had not sent a message to his brother either is as many days.

 

“I’m Jesse McCree.”

 

Jesse McCree. A name, a confirmation. A target was painted on this man’s forehead. The United Nations wanted him stopped. Overwatch tried to apprehend him and halt his operations. They spectacularly failed. Blackwatch just wanted him dead.

 

Still, this was an undercover mission. Hanzo should report on his progress.

 

Instead he went to Panorama every day in time for the lunch hour. Noon.  

 

“I wouldn’t drink the coffee, though. It always tasted like boiled dirt.” McCree told him the second day.

 

Again, he had been seemingly taking a short closed eye rest at his usual table, alone. This time, when Hanzo approached the table, McCree loudly invited him to sit down, sounding enthused. He recommended the chicken filet burger (“ _real chicken, unlike the beef…_ ”) and ordered a pot of boiling water and a mug.

 

“I’ve been thinking about you all day after you got up and left yesterday.” McCree said, producing a small black box from underneath his serape. “I figured you must be more of a tea aficionado… So I figured you’d have more use for this than I do. Been sitting on my shelves ever since I’ve received them as a gift...”

 

It was tea. Darjeeling tea, imported from India. Not Hanzo’s first choice, but a thoughtful gesture nonetheless.

 

“Thank you for dropping your leftovers on me. Sincerely, I am moved.” Hanzo teased, smirking.

 

McCree chuckled. Hanzo was surprised at the pleasant sound.

 

“I like you, Yajirobei.” he added. “You’re a funny guy.”

 

His heart was pounding in his ears. He dropped a teabag in his mug and poured the hot water from the steaming jug into the ceramic. By the smell alone, Hanzo identified it as quality leaves, a small dose in a large airy bag, a lemon zest added, almost as an afterthought.

 

It was light and delicious. Too bad the same couldn’t be said about the burger. Still, the chicken actually tasted like chicken.

 

Every day was pretty much the same for several weeks. They would meet, they would flirt, McCree would order boiling water and Hanzo would drink tea.

 

“What are you doing tonight, beautiful?” McCree asked after over two full weeks of punctual meetings.

 

Hanzo wasn’t good at undercover. _Why had he assigned him to undercover?_

 

Tonight, he had planned to finally call Gabriel for further instructions. He was bad at undercover. What if McCree decided he was bored of Hanzo? What if Panorama wasn’t the only place he usually stayed around?

  
_What if he found his target to be too damn attractive and it was distracting him from his mission?_

 

In fact, McCree was more than attractive. He was handsome. Hanzo loved his confidence, his wicked smile, his dark eyes that made him want to melt into a puddle on the floor. Hanzo wanted to kiss those lips when McCree said “ _Ha, I like you Yajirobei_.” An automatic answer to any of Hanzo’s witty response to the other man’s daily flirts.

 

McCree had untied his serape from across his shoulders and intentionally worn too tight flannel shirts to show off his half buttoned chest these past three days. A beautiful chest. Hanzo was too old to blame it on the hormones. He was twenty-two, not eighteen.

 

McCree also hinted at his preferences. Handsome men, who talked back. Fierce men with a witty sense of humour. Pretty men with strong shoulders and stronger arms. His lips looked chapped, how would they feel under his fingers, Hanzo wondered?

 

Hanzo had to call Gabriel. Tonight.

 

“I need to call my family. My brother is in Japan and unwell.” Hanzo lied smoothly. Truth was way easier to manipulate.

 

After all, after the Shimada severed ties with their scions, in a somewhat literal way, Gabriel had become like a new father to them. One that would die _for_ them.

 

“Oh, nothing too severe, I hope.” McCree asked, looking genuinely concerned.

 

Remembering Jesse McCree’s dossier and the bodies he had left in his wake, Hanzo winced.

 

“It’s… His situation has stabilised enough that the doctors are confident on his chances of recovery.” Hanzo answered coolly.

 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to bring that up, darlin’...” McCree said. “Here…”

 

The man stood up and patted himself down until he found a pen. On one of the deep red paper napkins, he scribbled a string of symbols. Numbers.

 

“I ain’t gonna make you chose between kin and…” he trailed off. “Well, I’ll be outta town for a while. If you want to contact me, use this number. Who knows, maybe I’ll let ya taste the house special.” he drawled.

 

Hanzo felt a stirring. His head spun.

 

“I’ll… Thank you, McCree.” he could only say, dazed.

 

Well, at least, he made progress, he thought this night as he dialed the Blackwatch emergency channel’s number.

 

*

**

*

 

“You got his private number?” Gabriel repeated, his tone way too neutral not to be hiding any kind of stronger emotion.

 

Hanzo, red in the face, looked everywhere but at the screen.

 

“Did you…”

 

“No.” Hanzo immediately shot down. “I would never! I just… Played along. We met at a popular restaurant. Panorama. Typically American. Serves bad burgers and worse coffee.”

 

“You, Hanzo Shimada are one lucky s.o.b.” Gabriel sighed. “The best course of action is keeping up with your current mission. Try to stay in his good books and look for an opportunity for termination.”

 

Hanzo’s heart squeezed upon hearing Gabriel’s words. He wasn’t really sure he could do that.

 

“I’m going to trust how far you want to go for this mission, Hanzo.” Gabriel said. “I usually used you in more clean cut assignments. Enter, kill, get out. This is different. You will need to show feeling and normalcy and still look for your window of opportunity. It’s really easy to mess up. Your target will be on its own turf too...”

 

Hanzo simply nodded.

 

“Hey, son.” Gabriel called on the tablet. “ _Look at me in the eye, son._ ”

 

Hearing Japanese startled Hanzo now that he wasn’t hearing it all day anymore. Especially coming from Gabriel’s mouth. It was hard to believe this huge man with arms shaped like his thighs and thighs shaped like tree trunks was speaking five languages fluently. Maybe even more.

 

“ _I’ve got your back, son. There’s a first for everything. You can do it. Compartimentalise. You’re good at that, I know it._ ”

 

“ _I will.”_ Hanzo answered.

 

“ _Do you want to speak to Genji?”_ Gabriel asked.

 

“ _Yes, Please._ ”

 

Gabriel’s face disappeared. Long agonising minutes were spent staring at the Blackwatch logo on the screen.

 

Hanzo could still feel the weight of Genji in his arms. He could still feel his heart sink in his chest when he heard his father’s last words. _I love you, my sons._

 

No. He loved his honour more.

 

“ _Hey, brother.”_ He heard from the tablet.

 

They hadn’t managed to get his throat right, so his voice was raspy and fragile.

 

“ _Gabriel told me to be nice. Are you in trouble?_ ” Genji said, wispy, as if he could fly away at any moment.

 

“ _No, not at all. It’s just a different kind of mission, he wants to make sure I’m prepared._ ” Hanzo dismissed. “ _How are you?_ ”

 

_“Like a bag of meat on a slab, bro.”_

 

_“Not funny, Genji.”_

 

_“Well, at least, Doctor Ziegler is hot. I think I’m in love.”_

 

_“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s your doctor.”_

 

_“She blushed when I told her she looked pretty.”_

 

_“It could be because you are embarrassing her.”_

 

_“I should be more careful, then. She might unstitch me and cut me back into the thousand pieces she found in Hanamura.”_

 

Hanzo knew Genji was making light of it all, but he had a hard time finding the fun in such a statement. Genji had almost died. Died in his arms. Had Overwatch not attacked at the same time… Never again, Hanzo swore.

 

_“Hey, bro… Are you sure you’re ok?”_

 

_“Yes, Genji. I’m just a little tired. It’s night time here.”_

 

_“Yeah, I figured. It’s way past your bedtime, you old coot.”_

 

_“Brat.”_

 

_“Love you too bro. The cute doctor is back! Talk to you later!”_

 

And with that, Genji hung up. The Blackwatch logo flickered. Hanzo turned off his tablet.

 

He wiped his eye. Little brat.

 

His heart heavy, Hanzo toyed with his phone, looking at the profile named _McCree_ in which he had saved the man’s number.

 

_Hey, It’s Han_

 

_Hey, It’s Yajirob_

 

_Hello, it’s me, Yajirobei. I was wond_

 

 _Hello. How are you? - Yajirobei_ **send**

 

Hanzo went to bed, the motel sheets still smelling like the last closet they were stuck into for the last decade.

 

He opened them as soon as his phone vibrated near his pillow.

 

_Hi, sugar! Mighty glad 2 c ur text. How about I call u back on Saturday? A tad busy, sry._

 

Hanzo’s fingers trembled as he typed an o and a k. The next vibration caught him by surprise.

 

 _Great! C u on sat, darlin!_   


He wondered who would die first. Jesse McCree by his hand or Hanzo Shimada of a heart attack.

 

*

**

*

 

On Saturday, Hanzo waited for McCree’s text meditating, trying to calm his breath. There was no need for him to send another message.

 

Saturday passed without any news. Hanzo called on Sunday.

 

“Hello sugar, I’m sorry I was quite busy this week, we were overwhelmed over here, I couldn’t find time to even text you yesterday.”

 

“McCree.” Hanzo breathed into the phone once the other man finished his quick apologetic tirade. He tried not to feel too happy to hear his voice.

 

“That’s my name, doll.” McCree answered, his voice dropping low.

 

Hanzo thought of Gabriel’s advice. _Compartimentalise._

 

“I thought you’d forgotten about me for a minute.” Hanzo managed to say, his voice trembling with his restlessness on the beat kindly provided by the overly fast beating of his heart.

 

“Forgetting about you? Never…” was the answer.

 

Hanzo fell silent; He was bad at this. He felt light headed. How could he do this to him, even on the phone.

 

“You… You were saying something about the house special, last we spoke.” Hanzo reminded McCree. “I would very much like to taste it.”

 

“Oh, really?” McCree asked, feigning a smooth incredulity. “Aren’t you afraid it’s going to be too spicy for you, beautiful?”

 

“Too spicy? Are you kidding?” Hanzo chuckled. “I come from the country that brought wasabi to the world… And other things too.” he added, to keep up with the flirting.

 

He knew he was at his limit, though. His pants too.

 

“Alright, if you think you can take it…” McCree said, as if he was capitulating. “I’m going to text you the address. It’s not far from Panorama… Or Santa Veronica motel...” he added. Hanzo could almost hear the wink in his voice upon saying the name of his motel.

 

“I’ll be there.” Hanzo said, hanging up.

 

He looked at the address. He typed an acknowledgement. _Don’t start without me. - Yajirobei._

 

This was his opportunity. He had to make sure he didn’t leave anything in his room.

 

One message to Gabriel. A forwarding of the location.

Once Hanzo was en route, he received an answer. _Watching over you, sonny._

 

*

**

*

 

On his way, Hanzo stopped at the gas station, frantically looking for something that would be appropriate. He found a woodsy cologne that did not smell like a vatful of bad vodka, check it out with the surly old lady at the register and put a single drop of it on his hand to rub his neck with before tossing it in the glove compartment.

 

Last time Hanzo had been as nervous about an assassination mission had been his first time.

 

The Shimada clan had been contracted for an easy job and decided it was time for the scion of the current leader to prove himself. Hanzo cringed upon reminiscing the emotion, the disgust. This was not it. It wasn’t assassination jitters at all. It was first date jitters, _admit it_ , he admonished himself.

 

_Focus on your task. Compartimentalise._

 

The rendez-vous point McCree gave him was in a nondescript building not far from the gas station. From afar, Hanzo realised it looked a lot like a hangar.

 

Alright, maybe not the best place for a first date. Was it possible the Japanese assassin had been played by the cowboy, rather than the other way around?

 

It’s with newfound suspicion that Hanzo entered the hangar through a door left open. He dared not bring more than a pocket knife and a pistol with him, letting his other weapons in the rental car, conveniently parked in a place he had Gabriel confirm him through text message that it was safe. _Still watching over you, sonny._

 

Hanzo took a deep breath.

 

The hangar was full of stacked crates carefully coded with. Even numbers on the right, odd numbers on the left. Hanzo was examining each of them when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

 

_I’m an oddity, beautiful. Look 4me in the stars._

 

Hanzo locked his phone, tucked it in the pocket of his black jeans and straightened his spine. This was a game. Cat and mouse. It made him nervous, but life and necessity gave him the ability to school his features into a carefully neutral expression as he walked in the alley between the crates, looking left and right. He had his knife handy in his sleeve. He was capable, a warrior. Gabriel put him on this mission because he had faith in his abilities.

 

Hanzo turned to his left in the alley marked with a seven looking suspiciously like a lightning bolt. Oddity. Strange for a cowboy to make a David Bowie reference.

 

Well, both the era of cowboys and Ziggy Stardust were long gone, so both fit McCree very well. Longing for an era where things were either simpler or better in many aspects.

 

Hanzo too longed for the days where his life had been simple and his path clear cut. He would don his kendogi and his hakama, strap on his tare, his do before finally donning the men and the kote. He and Genji would then spar, oblivious to the actual finality of their Kendo training for so long before Hanzo would be singled out to be groomed as the leader of the clan.

 

Now he was an assassin still, but he did it for the embetterment of this world and it made so much more sense…

 

_Do not think of McCree as a potential lover. He wasn’t born into a family of crime. He’s a thug. He chose this life. He’s a target. Compartimentalise._

 

At the end of row seven was a door with the deadlock gang’s sign sprayed on. Hanzo’s phone vibrated again.

 

_morse code deadlock. unless you don’t know morse then just sing Cotton Eyed-Joe. (sorrynotsorry)_

 

Hanzo’s snort turned into a sputter that sprayed disgusting drops of saliva on his phone’s screen. Unable to type an answer, unable to remember any morse code, he just laughed at his screen for a good full minute before the door actually opened on McCree’s equally merry disposition.

 

“I didn’t know it’d work so well.” he managed to stutter in between peals of laughter. “You have a nice laugh.” he added, trying himself to curb his hilarity to flirt.

 

However, Hanzo couldn’t remove the age old song from his head.

 

“Are you even serious?” Hanzo tried to say, wheezing and hiccuping. “This… This!” he hissed, showing McCree his phone.

 

This man was going to kill him with a very bad musical reference. Hanzo was officially the worst assassin to have ever graced this Earth to be rendered so helpless with just his target’s jokes.

McCree, still laughing gently took Hanzo’s wrist holding the phone. Laughter slowly died down as Hanzo let himself be led into the tiny room.

 

It looked like any hideout’s rec room. There was a big couch and a television as well as a gaming system, cards, ashtrays everywhere, especially on the small bar separating the seating area from a very small kitchenette where McCree walked to after closing the door and letting go of Hanzo’s arm.

 

Still, the air smelled of flowers and the slight ozone smell of a recently used can of fragrant air-care. With the way everything seemed to have tucked away and half cleaned in haste, it seemed that, while Hanzo had been trusted with a phone number, he wasn’t yet trusted with the location of McCree’s real home.

 

Still, a bachelor pad was a step ahead.

 

Hanzo felt nervous. Gabriel trusted him with how far he was willing to go to get an opportunity for termination, but he was still unsure of his own boundaries. Any boundary. There was his want (which, when he thought of them sometimes, felt like _need_ ) and there was…

 

 _Termination_.

 

“So… How about a drink?” McCree proposed as he removed the last ashtrays from the bar, unceremoniously dropping them in a trash bag he hid in a small closet that seemed to serve as a bathroom. “I have whiskey, Tequila and… And home made rum from one of our guys in Martinique, if you’re feeling adventurous.” he added with another chuckle, once that went straight to Hanzo’s spine, making it tingle.

 

A sudden panic erased the reminders of mirth and attraction in him. Hanzo looked pointedly at the bottles and whispered:

 

“Maybe… if you have tea or… Just plain water…”

 

McCree’s smile got wider.

 

“Got just the thing, darlin.” he said, rummaging in closets on the other side of the bar, retrieving a an electric kettle, an infuser and a small black box with a post-it note stuck on it.

 

“Wait… 60 degrees… Sonova dung couldn’t be bothered opening a search engine to convert this shit, seriously…” he mumbled, to himself.

 

“Sixty degrees…” Hanzo mused out loud. “Have you acquired a herbal tea for me, Mister McCree?” he asked as he sat on the lone bar stool.

 

“Probably. It’s a fancy thing I got from the people I’ve been doing business with in the last week. The reason I was away, really…” McCree explained. “Also, it’s cheap, but since I was there and I knew this place would reek of alcohol and ash, I grabbed a can of some kind of air-care as well.”

 

His smile had an edge to it. Was he nervous too, Hanzo wondered? He took a deep breath. It smelled like the laundry room back home in Hanamura. He let out a small laugh.

 

“Well, it is cheap and it faintly smells of toilets, but the intention is appreciated, I assure you.” he answered with an especially sassy smile.

 

McCree’s own predatory smile at this instant scared Hanzo. Was he falling? It felt like falling. The kettle soon had finished heating the water. Hanzo shared a bit of _tea afficionado tips_ , as he said and they let the water cool down to a lower temperature within the kettle before serving.

 

“Will you have some?” Hanzo asked as they finally both sat on the couch.

 

“I got it for you, darlin.” McCree tutted. “Don’t you dare give away the gifts I give you...”

 

“I am not giving anything away.” Hanzo said, pouring the cooling water onto the loose leaves in the metallic infuser. “I am merely sharing my good fortune.”

 

The smell alone made Hanzo’s heart skip a beat. He only had this tea a couple of times. His father had been fond of it. It was also expensive…

 

“So, you’ve been to Japan?” Hanzo asked. “This time of the year is perfect for a trip. The cherry trees must be in bloom.”

 

“Indeed they were, beautiful.” McCree answered. “Didn’t have time to go sightseeing much, but I remembered our conversation during one of our lunches. How you missed your village dearly and everything. Don’t know if it was the one, but I was on a hill too. The ground was littered with the petals, it felt like gliding on a pink cloud, just like in a dream...”

 

His expression had turned fond and Hanzo felt himself plunge into wistful memories of changing uniforms for the spring term and watching the falling leaves with wonder. He missed it indeed.

 

Taking a sip of the tea, Hanzo closed his eyes. He could see it all over again as the flavoured liquid swished in his mouth. That night, the glinting steel and the red. Father announcing that he would accept the consequences of dishonouring the clan in Genji’s stead.  Each strike accompanied with a grunt. He remembered shielding Genji's eyes, but who was there to shield his?

 

The _gyokuro_ had turned bitter in his mouth.

 

“Hey, hun, are you alright?” McCree asked, his voice soft, his touch grounding.

 

Hanzo took a deep breath, trying to replace the hollowness with new air.

 

“Yes.” he said. “Thank you for the tea. It was my father’s favourite.” he explained. He frowned then. “You have yet to drink from your cup.” he deflected.

 

“Alright, alright.” McCree conceded, lifting the tacky mug covered in cartoonish cows to his lips.

 

Hanzo couldn’t help but stare at McCree’s mouth and then his throat.

 

“That’s not half bad... “ McCree said, his tone then switched again, making the other man suddenly feel liquid. “But I prefer my drinks with a little bit more bite…”

 

Hanzo chuckled, feeling his cheeks set themselves ablaze.

 

“Well, your taste in beverages is unsophisticated… It should learn a thing or two of your taste in men.” he added before he could help himself.

 

Why did he say that? He wished he had never said that.

 

He changed his mind within the first second of McCree’s kiss. In fact, his mind did such a spectacular one eighty that he startled himself when he head McCree’s hat fall in a small thud on the floor shortly after his hand, greedy for McCree’s hair, removed it to throw it away. McCree’s tongue licking his lips as they parted to let the surprised gasp out, is what made Hanzo melt further against the cowboy’s body.

 

There was a pop when one of the buttons of McCree’s shirt became a casualty in the fight for the dominant position on the tiny couch. The clinking of the belts being removed by hungry fingers told like bells in Hanzo’s head. There was no turning back, he thought. He didn’t want to end this, these kisses, this hot touch shaking him to the core as he straddled McCree. McCree. Jesse McCree. How could such a good kisser be the leader of the nastiest gang in North America? Maybe he was born a sinner, Hanzo mused as he felt two hot and slick fingers work to stretch him as himself stroked and caressed him with his lips, tongue, hands.

 

He was going too far, wasn’t he? There it was, the boundary coming at eighty eight miles an hour and he was going to break it, break all the walls he had erected long ago around his mind and his heart. They were crumbling under the delicious assault of McCree’s hips pounding him, his fingers eliciting moans and chuckles when they played with his nipples.

 

He was saying his name. Well, not _his_ name. _Yajirobei._ He repeated it over and over against his ear, each time sounding more and more desperate. Hanzo couldn’t help but wish he would say _Shimada_ instead, maybe even _Hanzo_. He was only imagining it, but it still made him come, spilling on his stomach and even all the way to his throat as he bit McCree’s lips and sputtered sweet endearments and foul curses in Japanese, trying to withstand the shock of his orgasm.

 

McCree himself reached his peak when Hanzo deposited a kiss on his lips, his last movements erratic and crazed in his lover’s now oversensitive hole. He endured until McCree finally let go under Hanzo’s hands which had been alternating between caressing his neck and scratching his shoulderblades.

 

“Wow…” McCree breathed in Hanzo’s ear as he trembled, their bodies soaked with sweat and other fluids. “I… You… You’re something, Yajirobei.” he said, still seemingly struggling to catch his breath.

 

Hanzo wanted to scream. _Say my name. Say my name._

 

However, the mission came first. For Genji, for Gabriel. It was his duty, he owed a debt.

 

Hanzo took a deep breath and helped McCree up, tying the knot on the condom and disposing of it when his fingers trembled too much.

 

“Been a while since I had such a good time.” McCree admitted as they chuckled over it. “You sure you don’t want alcohol? I’m sure gonna get myself some...”

 

His knees wobbled a bit, but soon, he was all swagger and naked glory as he cleaned himself a glass.

 

Hanzo’s hand itched. He was still sitting on the couch they just had sex on. He looked at McCree’s muscled back and at the little coffee table they had left their weapons on. McCree’s revolver was just next to Hanzo’s knife. Opportunity for termination.

 

McCree’s back was still turned. He had poured himself a first glass and downed it in single thirsty gulp. He was helping himself with a second one after shaking his head as if to force himself to step down from the cloud of the afterglow.

 

Hanzo Shimada dared not meet McCree in the eye when the man turned around to see a fully dressed _Yajirobei_ leaving the tiny room smelling of jasmine air-care.

 

Gabriel and a fully geared Blackwatch strike team was waiting for him outside the building. Upon seeing Hanzo, Commander Reyes made the hand signal signaling the go. He did not follow them. Instead, he gathered Hanzo in his arms and rocked him, hardly noticing the hot tears spilling on his tactical gear.

 

*

**

*

 

When Hanzo woke up, it was in his small room in Watchpoint: Zurich. His first thought was for McCree. Was he dead? Was he angry when he died?

 

Hanzo went down to the mess to get food. He was greeted with sympathetic glances. He ate some fries and left the beef burger alone. He checked the time. It wasn’t noon. He could visit Genji. Maybe he wouldn’t feel this empty after a talk to his brother.

 

“ _Hey, sonny.”_ Gabriel greeted him upon entering Genji’s medicalised room.

 

Hanzo looked at Genji’s own sympathetic eyes.

 

“ _Did you…”_

 

 _“No, I just told him to be nice to his big brother, for a change.”_ Gabriel interrupted swiftly. _“I’ll let you guys have your chit-chat, I’ve some paperwork to fill…”_

 

 _“Wait!” Hanzo called before Gabriel could leave. “The target…_ Was the target terminated?” he asked.

 

Gabriel looked at Hanzo with a peculiar sheen in his eye and for a second, the younger man didn’t know what would be worse.

 

“Target escaped. Took down six of our own.” he answered in English. “I’ll forward you the mission debrief, Sleeping Beauty.” he added, mirthlessly. A flat attempt to lift up his spirits, Hanzo knew.

 

Alive. McCree was alive. Hanzo shouldn’t feel this relieved. He shouldn’t want to leave this place with only the bare necessities and scour the world for Jesse McCree, Scourge of Road Sixty-Six, Kingpin of the Deadlock Gang…

 

“ _What was that all about?_ ” Genji asked, interrupting Hanzo’s train of thought. “ _Gabriel told me to be nice again. Are you sure you’re not sick or something?_ ”

 

He looked infinitely better. They had removed almost all the machines he had been hooked with and in place of his right arm was a chrome prosthetic which Genji was training even as they spoke, holding a gyro ball with fancy green leds.

 

His hair was even starting to grow back. They spoke of Genji’s plans to dye his hair back to green when it would finally grow to a respectable length. Going to university to study medicine ( _the hot doctor is still a student around here, even though she’s a genius. I hope to meet her there and maybe_ …), joking about not being able to wear sunglasses anymore since he missed a proper nose now. ( _Well, Winston can, I’m sure you can ask him how he does it…_ ).

 

“And you, Hanzo? Don’t you have any plans? Gabriel told me you just finished paying all my medical bills…” the younger man exclaimed. “Though I don’t understand how you could have, if the previous one was a bust…”

 

Hanzo frowned.

 

“He told you that?” he asked. “When?”

 

“He was talking about it just as you came in!” Genji said. “So… Do you want to leave here? I think I’m gonna join Overwatch. Convince Gabe to let me intern here with Angela. Damn, she’s so hot and she’s so clever and she blushed a lot when I…”

 

Hanzo let Genji wax poetic on the merits of young _Student-Doctor_ Ziegler or whatever her title was here in Switzerland. He looked at Genji, but he could as well have been staring at the window, for all that he listened to his talkative little brother.

 

He had plans. Hanzo had none other than protect his brother. However, Genji was safe. He was in the middle of reeducation, something he couldn’t help with and seemed to breeze through with the help of his doctors.

 

Later, as he read the mission debrief, Hanzo paid attention to the details. McCree had been hurt by the twelve men team. Despite being surrounded as Hanzo and him had been... _busy_ , he had taken advantage of a better knowledge of his environment to take the high ground and shoot six Blackwatch operatives clean despite wearing very little clothing and swaying on his feet. There was no other insight on his state of mind, but Hanzo committed the names of his deceased colleagues to memory.

 

“Commander Reyes.” Hanzo greeted the tall man as he opened the door to his office and let him enter the small messy room.

 

Hanzo sat on the chair opposite of Gabriel who offered him a biscuit, as usual, which he politely declined as well as coffee.

 

“Genji told me you considered my debt repaid?” Hanzo asked plainly.

 

“Yes it is.” Gabriel assured him. “Your debt is paid in full. Just in time for Genji’s recovery as you can see.”

 

“I failed at least two missions.” Hanzo retorted. “How can it be?”

 

“This is not the yakuza, Hanzo.” the commander pointed out. “We may deal with shadier things than Overwatch, but we’re still operating within the international code of labour and recommended safe standards of employment. We asked you to repay your debt with your martial skills on a certain number of missions on a minimum wage, but mission success is only a bonus… Or would you rather lose both your pinky fingers?” the American added with a short chuckle.

 

“As delightful as it sounds, I will pass.” Hanzo quipped back.

 

Silence fell.

 

“I’m sorry I had to put you in this situation, Hanzo.” Gabriel finally said, his voice soft, almost a confession. “I knew you were not prepared and I used you… I am… Ashamed of myself.”

 

“I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do during this mission.” Hanzo coldly answered.

 

He had wanted it. Every minute spent, every inch of skin kissed and worshipped…

 

“It’s not just the body.” Gabriel sighed. “I was young too, once, you know, _sonny_ …”

 

Hanzo bristled. He didn’t want to talk about it with Gabe, not now, but he had to.

 

“I wish he wasn’t who he is. Flings like ours happen all the time. It will pass.” he managed to say through the lump in his throat.

 

_Gods, please don’t make me lie._

 

“Jesse McCree is still alive.” Hanzo continued. “What do you plan to do about him now?”

 

“He’ll probably hole up somewhere, lay low for a couple of months. Probably even set up a puppet as the Deadlock Gang ringleader.” Gabriel answered. “I’m afraid we’ll have to start it all over again _de zéro._ ”

 

Hanzo’s heart was beating like a drum.

 

“I would like to join Blackwatch formerly, then.” he blurted out. “Hunt him out. Repair this smear on my record.”

 

“Clean.” Reyes corrected. “Are you sure? I’m not hearing you voicing the same complaint about the Juhani Härkönen fiasco.”

 

It had been Hanzo’s first mission with Blackwatch. He had predictably been clumsy, despite having already operated for the Shimada clan before.

 

“I was eighteen, at the time.”

 

“Still a fully trained assassin.”

 

“Still a beginner's mistake.” Hanzo admitted. It was the truth.

 

Gabriel stared at Hanzo. He withstood it as long as he could.

 

“Report to Isotalo. We’ll be doing it in the proper order.” Gabriel conceded. “Pack a coat, we have a lead on Härkönen near the Australian Omnium, it’s fall over there.”

 

Hanzo rose immediately from his chair and saluted before exiting Commander Reyes’ office.

 

*

**

*

 

“You.” a low voice spat.

 

Hanzo did not lower his wakizashi.

 

“What is he doing here?” the Japanese man asked, trying to reign in his anger.

 

He had barely changed. Still broad shouldered, still scraggly, his brown hair greying between the now longer uneven white bangs. He was still wearing this ridiculous cowboy hat and this colourful serape as well as his spurs. His gaze had hardened, though, upon his recognition of his former lover.

 

“He volunteered, actually.” Winston said. “I know Jesse McCree was a big pet project of Blackwatch and he still has a bounty on his head, but Athena has been following him around: he’s fought against Talon these past few years and considering it is now our primary enemy and the Deadlock Gang fell when he left them, I reasoned that the…”

 

“Enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Hanzo said.

 

“Ah, don’t worry, Mr McCree!” Genji exclaimed. “Hanzo’s like that all the time.”

 

“Oh, really…” McCree smirked. “ _Hanzo?_ ”

 

In the span of a blink, Hanzo felt the suppressed memories of an enamoured young man rush back. He silently put his wakizashi back into his sheath as he opened them back.

 

“If you step out of line, I will end you.” he hissed.

 

“See you haven’t lost your bite, _Hanzo_.” McCree hollered back as Hanzo exited the room.

 

The rhythmic thud of Genji’s arrows in his target accompanied Hanzo’s katas. he couldn’t keep McCree out of his mind. Years and years he had moved Heaven and Earth to look for him.

 

“ _You slept with him._ ” the younger man sing songed.

 

Hanzo said nothing. It was a long time ago and none of his brother’s business.

 

“ _That’s why you stayed with Blackwatch… I can’t believe I didn’t notice it._ ”

 

“ _How is the good Doctor?_ ” Hanzo asked.

 

“ _Still in Jordan. She said she’d be coming, though._ ” Genji answered.

 

Hanzo, committing to his training, waited for his cue to speak up. Genji could never shut up about Angela Ziegler, never could in more than fifteen years. After a five minutes of silence only broken by the swish and thud of arrows striking their mark, Hanzo looked up to meet his little brother’s eye.

 

“ _He came to see me a bit after you left. It was extremely rude, by the way. He had a gift for you..._ ” Genji said, producing a small black box from the pouch hanging on the obi holding his kyudogi together.

 

Hanzo knew this box. It was a bit scratched, but it had obviously been kept and cared for, despite being empty. The smell of _gyokuro_ lingered. A small paper with dots and lines traced reminded him of bad jokes, hysterical laughter and a burning desire pooling in his belly.

 

With bitterness, Hanzo hummed Cotton-Eyed Joe to himself all day until he got to bed. Unable to sleep, he drew up his communicator, setting the priority of the message to personal:

 

_Did you drink all the tea? Have your tastes finally evolved from the primordial soup of dirt-like coffee and bad burgers? - Hanzo._

 

 _I got better with age darlin. gained in sophistication. so did the house special._ came the answer.

 

Hanzo snorted. Seeing as he still wore those ridiculous spurs and didn’t even have the decency to give his metal arm a new paint job, he doubted McCree had gained any sense of sophistication.

 

 _I will pass on the house special for now._ Hanzo typed hurriedly as an answer, not wanting to string anyone along, especially not Jesse McCree.

 

_I still have that home made rum. might be a bit strong now tho. got some sake too. (yeah i was that kinda fool…)_

 

Hanzo felt his heart squeeze. His fingers moved on the touchscreen.

 

 _Just a sip._ **send**

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a trait of genius when I wondered from whom exactly the English language picked the word "termination".  
> Sometimes, being a language and linguistics nerd comes handy. 
> 
> http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=termination


End file.
